“When you gonna leave those girly girls at the Bureau and come back to work for me?” Frank said.
“When are you gonna retire?”
“When I’m dead,” Frank growled. “Ya didn’t answer my question.”
“You know the answer to that question.”
“These pups I got working for me these days…” Frank shook his head. “You ever get tired of chasin’ around train bandits and purse snatchers, you give me a call. There’s always room on my staff for you.”
“Sorry to disappoint you again,” said Luke.
Frank chuckled. “The only thing that disappoints me, Son, is every single one of your post war decisions.”
Luke smiled, then got to the point. “Were you able to find anything?”
“Well, most of it is still classified, but lucky for you, I’m golfing buddies with most of JSOC at the time. What’s left of ‘em.”
“That’s why I called you.”
The crusty old soldier looked sternly at Luke. “Still keeping a mental file on everybody, huh? Glad to see you’re keeping your skills sharp.” He ground his cigarette butt on the granite.
“Learned it from you.”
“Your request was a little unusual. I’m not often asked to dig up classified information on US operations in Iraq to give to the FBI. Especially on the down low.”
“I know and I’m sorry about that, Frank. I wish there was another way. The normal channels would raise the suspicions of some people I’d rather keep dark right now. Powerful people.”
Frank didn’t seem surprised. “The shit always seems to find you doesn’t it, Son.”
“You ain’t kidding.”
“Alright.” The colonel heaved his padded frame into a more comfortable position on the stone. “I did find the incident you were looking for. A two-vehicle convoy was attacked in Rasheed just outside Baghdad in 2008, like you said. Two privates, three corporals, a gunny and a reporter were killed. No survivors.”
“Were they scheduled to go through the area?”
“No, it was a combat logistics unit on a personnel transfer. Likely they were transporting the reporter to a new imbed unit taking a random route like they were supposed to.”
“What was the reporters deal?”
“He was to be attached to a unit out of Camp Hope near the airport. You were right. He spent a couple of months at Doha. He completed his training there before forward deploying with the 64th Armored Regiment.”
“What happened?” Luke gave up trying to sit still and started pacing back and forth in front of Frank.
“Hit by RPGs and finished off with small arms fire. That is if anyone was still alive after the IED went off. It left a crater twenty feet wide.”
“Seems like overkill. What was the frequency of attacks in the area?”
“By that time, it had died down in the region around Bagdad, but attacks still happened in random patterns. Just the fringe operators at this point, but it wasn’t unheard of. Attacks on either side were a couple of months removed from this one.”
“Any of them use that much firepower?”
“Not even close. Most of the damage was on the convoy’s left side, which was south facing. It was almost point blank. Definitely an ambush. They were hit from no more than fifty feet away, max.”
Agitated, Luke sped up. “Did any of our boys return fire?”
“Their magazines were still full. I don’t think they saw it coming.”
“They were in APCs. How could they all die immediately?”
“What are you looking for, Son?”
“I don’t know.”
“Son, don’t bullshit me. You’re terrible at it.”
“This is going to sound ridiculous, but do you think it’s possible it wasn’t an insurgent attack? That someone in the military or posing as military attacked the convoy?”
“I hope I heard you wrong. That’s a very serious accusation. U.S. soldiers were killed.”
“Why do you think I want to keep it quiet?”
“Well, I have to admit I’d given some thought to that.”
Luke’s pacing screeched to a halt. He snapped around to face Frank. “Why?”
“Judging by the wounds, they were hit by AK’s after the initial blast. But no brass was found around the scene. No fresh brass anyway. They cleaned up. The responding infantry unit couldn’t find hide nor hair of the attackers.”
“Insurgents didn’t do that, Frank. That country had 7.62 rounds for carpet. The last thing on their minds was spent brass.”
“I know. I talked to Chaudry’s editor at the time. Man named Jenkins. He couldn’t tell me much. He did say Chaudry’s footlocker and bunk had been cleared out. He went to personally collect Chaudry’s effects for the family and couldn’t find shit. No idea when it happened or who took the stuff. No one could tell him anything.” Frank pulled out another cigarette.
“Did he say anything about stories he was working on?”
“I asked him. Chaudhry had mentioned he was working on something other than his war correspondence but said he didn’t want to discuss it then. Jenkins assumed the reluctance was due to his upcoming deployment. He was heading into a war zone after all.”
“Do you know anything about human trafficking around military installations?”
“Sure don’t.”
“My source says it’s a big problem.”
“You don’t say.”
“You ever notice how most auxiliary personnel don’t speak English or the host nation language?”
“To tell the truth, no. I was busy all the time.”
“They’re slaves.”
Frank looked thoughtful. “This have something to do with your case?”
“I think the reporter found out about it. A reporter dying in a roadside IED attack, no one would have questioned that.”
“Son, you think somebody hired mercs to kill American soldiers?”
Luke glanced around then took a seat next to Frank. “Not just somebody, Colonel. Maybe DOD contractors. Tell me you found them. I know we tracked mercs and gun runners back then, even if it was spotty.”
The wrinkles on Frank’s face furrowed deeper and he thought before he answered. “Yes. There were several active in Iraq around that time.”
“Good.”
“What’s next?”
“I don’t know.”
Frank pointed at Luke. “Luke Marshall always knows what he’s going to do next.”
“Is there any way you can get me a passport?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“You’re messing with me, right?” Frank flicked his unsmoked cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. “You cannot run a black ops incursion into fucking Bulgaria. I’m sure as hell not going to be a part of it unless you’re on state’s business, and you don’t work for me, remember? And certainly not for some podunk Georgia carpetbagger.”
Luke froze at the sudden block. He glared at his mentor and oldest friend. It was the closest he’d ever come to disrespecting the old war dog, but he held his tongue.
“Besides,” Frank continued, “of the four I have information on, one entire group is either dead or missing. Two floating in the Dead Sea and the other four missing. All six were documented working together at some point in that five-year period. I’m guessing that’s your dream team.”
Luke’s shoulders slumped.
Frank threw his head back and laughed as Luke hunched over running his hands through his hair. “You haven’t lost that fire in your gut. I’m glad to see that.”
Frank was right. Frank was right. What was he thinking? He’d let it run away with him. Again. He tried to sound sincere when he said, “Thanks, Frank. I owe you one.”
“I’ll keep that in my back pocket for later,” Frank grinned. Then he grew serious. “Can I ask you a question?”
Luke stiffened. If anyone else asked him that, his answer would be ‘no’, but he and Frank went too far back. Luke owed
the man more than he could ever repay. Especially after the shit storm of his very last op. He’d let Luke move on without asking the one question Luke knew he wanted to ask.
“Yeah.” Luke watched the ducks waddled around pecking at the grass.
“Of all the things I imagined you would do when you came home, white collar crime wasn’t one of them.”
“I don’t just do white collar, sir. Unless it falls under a specialty unit, I take whatever comes up. It’s why I’m stuck on this gaggle fuck.”
“I’m a little surprised at the path you took within the Bureau. Are you happy down there?”
“Sure,” Luke said. “It’s not bad.”
Frank laughed. “You are a terrible liar. It’s probably a good thing you don’t say much.”
Luke looked at him and smiled blandly.
“Promise me one thing,” said Frank.
“What’s that?”
“If you ever get tired of those bureau bimbo’s you give me a call. I’d like to see you back where you can function optimally. You belong in intelligence. Specifically working for me. It’s what you’re good at. Not stuffed away in some over decorated building watering your office plants.”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Luke lied again. He didn’t mention his current office had no room for office plants. The men stood and embraced. Luke watched as Frank marched away. He sat back down and watched the ducks return to the water and paddle smoothly away.
What was he supposed to say to his mentor? That he’d rather scrape his own eyeballs out than go back to that life? Or make camp in a nest of desert vipers than go back to what he used to go? Hell, he’d rather get married and settle down.
No. He’d done his duty. And in return, he received a burdened conscience to haul around for the rest of his life. That’s what he should have told Frank. He might not agree, but at least he would understand.
FIFTEEN
The next morning Luke rounded the corner onto Bull Street and almost ran into the back of a man wielding an enormous camera. A pack of local reporters had posted up on the sidewalk in front of the field office, their station logos emblazoned on the side of their cameras. They were waiting for him.
He stopped short as they turned and eyed him. In a flash, they surrounded him shouting questions at the same time. “Special Agent Marshall, I assume,” a white haired reporter with stains on his shirt bellowed, shoving his way closer.
“Tell us about the Senator’s death,” someone demanded as they jostled for position.
“Was Twomey involved in a blackmail scheme? Is that why he killed himself? Was he being blackmailed?” A red head in a bright green blazer fired the questions at him while jamming a voice recorder under his nose.
“Agent Marshall, will your investigation affect the election in November?” yelled someone from the back.
More voices shouted over each other. Luke lowered his shoulder and forced his way through the mob repeating that he had no comment. He scanned his card and fell against the door slamming it behind him. He tried to compose himself as he climbed the stairs. It didn’t work. He knew as soon as he rounded that corner why the reporters were there.
Special Asshole in Charge Lawrence had leaked it to the press.
Susie buzzed Luke in. He was about to demand Greg’s whereabouts when he saw the morning paper on her desk. The front page had a full color picture of Greg standing on a dais behind a podium bearing the FBI seal.
Luke scanned the article. He was wrong. That son of a bitch didn’t leak it.
The Savannah Tribune quoted SAC Lawrence as saying that Twomey’s suicide was being investigated by his office. Anyone with any information was to contact his office or the Atlanta field office immediately. Luke cringed at his own name mentioned several times in the article, as well as an alleged blackmail scheme that Twomey may have been involved in.
Greg had used all the right words - investigating, suspected, alleged. He had no facts to give them, and it was just enough information to drive the press mad with curiosity. No doubt his goal.
“Greg said he wasn’t to be disturbed this morning,” offered Susie timidly without Luke asking. She saw his face and shot a nervous glance at the closed door behind her. Without a word, Luke grabbed the paper and crossed to the door. He slammed the door handle down. It was unlocked. If it hadn’t been, he would have kicked the door in.
“You called a press conference last night, you sack of shit.” Luke slammed the paper down on his desk. “You squeezed it in before I got back so I couldn’t stop you.
Surprise crossed Greg’s face when Luke stormed in, but it turned smug. “I have to go,” he muttered into the phone, “I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and sat back in his chair. He seemed pleased at Luke’s anger.
“You were in such a hurry to hamstring me you didn’t even have the foresight to leak it anonymously,” said Luke.
The smug look slid off Greg’s face. “I’m in charge even if that doesn’t mean anything to the agency rebel,” he snarled. “I’m the final word on what happens here. Period.”
“This is how you mark your territory? By fucking up my case…publicly.”
“That’s funny, Marshall. Me, fuck up your investigation. You’re doing a great job by yourself. You don’t need my help.”
“Help. Is that what you’re calling it these days? Luke sneered. “In the Academy, it was ‘motivation’.”
“You should be grateful. I have it on good authority that if you botch one more case you’re out.”
“You and Joe Long are buddies now, are you?”
Greg smiled. “It’s good for you to get knocked off your pedestal every now and then,” he sounded pleased again. “Besides, I probably got you a bunch of leads you didn’t have before. Sometimes it pays to listen to your superiors,” he emphasized the last word.
Greg leaned back as Luke leaned in, “You hitched your wagon to mine, Lawrence. If I go down, I’ll make sure you do too.”
Uncertainty flicked across Greg’s face before he could mask it with contempt. Luke thumped him on the chest. “Stay out of my way. If you don’t, I give you my personal guarantee that I will take you apart.”
Before Greg could sputter a reply, Luke walked out of the room. Susie J starred at her ashen boss like she wasn’t sure to get him some water or call an ambulance.
Luke stalked down the hall tugging on his neatly knotted tie. That miserable skulking brown nosing coward had always possessed a talent for screwing people over. Luke watched him do it to more than one good agent, and he was damned if he was going to let him get away with it now. At the broom closet door, he saw Thad focused on his computer screen. The Savannah Tribune article occupied the entire screen.
“Did you know about this?” Once inside, Luke kicked the door shut and rubbed his face.
It was clear from the look on Thad’s face he only just found out why the reporters were outside. Thad tugged the paper out of Luke's hand and scanned it for a second before balling it up and throwing it at the wall.
“Chicken fucker,” he hissed. “What are we supposed to do with this guy sabotaging us? You didn’t tell me your archenemy was runnin’ this joint. This is not good. Not good,” he repeated.
Luke sat down. “It’s done. He’s done what damage he can, but he gets nothing else from us. From now on, anything we find is to go back to the hotel with us at night. It’s not to stay in this office.”
“Agreed. How’d it go in Washington?”
Luke scooted his chair to the door, opened it a crack and peeked down the hall. The office opposite them was dark. Satisfied no one was close enough to listen in, Luke closed it and threw the bolt.
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” said Thad after Luke finished telling him what Frank had to say.
“More of the same inconclusive bullshit. This case has more than its fair share.”
Thad looked at him almost pleading. “Then it definitely was the same reporter? I mean, I didn’t really check to see if th
ere was another David Chaudhry. But maybe…”
“It was him. Chaudhry had finished a training stint at Camp Doha. He told his editor he was working on a story but didn’t tell him what it was.”
“So it’s true. Someone paid to have American soldiers killed so they wouldn’t lose money.”
“It’s only true if you can prove it,” Luke said. “But there’s no way both of those names on a dead man’s hand are a coincidence.” He stood and stretched. He hadn't slept on the flight home the night before. He was starting to feel it. “Twomey must have found something that looked like proof. A few days before he died.”
“From whom?”
“His hackers. Maybe.”
“Then the old coot went and told the wrong people,” Thad’s voice wavered like he didn’t know if it was a question or a statement.
“Maybe. Maybe I’m talking out my ass,” said Luke. He went to the window and looked toward the park. “If I could get into Twomey's server I could blow this thing wide open.”
“How? We don’t have a prayer at finding the hackers. And we don’t have enough probable cause for a search warrant affidavit. Unless you got something else while you were on vacation in DC. Cuz a theory and phone records ain’t gonna do it.”
“It gets worse.” He turned to look at Thad.
Thad’s expression went flat. “Is that even possible?”
Luke pinched his nose. “Frank thinks the team that carried out the hit was killed off. One by one about ten years ago.”
Thad visibly deflated. Luke felt bad. He was having the time of his life, but it occurred to him now that Thaddeus had stopped barking up this particular tree. Thad was following him out of faith that he knew what he was doing. But he was winging it. He tried to ease the tension.
“You’re right about one thing.”
“I am?” Thad’s eyebrows arched.
“I can sit here and bellyache all day that Twomey is the pin in this grenade. But a lot of other people are involved, and that leaves a trail.”
The Last Innocent Page 12